Dik-Dik...MOOSE!

So I'm sitting on the back porch talking with my dad the other evening.  The sun is below our tree line, minutes from setting.  It's hot, but no longer unbearable. A breeze blows gently by us when we hear a funny whistling sound.  My dad casually mentions how said sound reminds him of the dik-dik he saw while on safari in East Africa.  I begin nodding my head in cracker barrel agreement just as the actual words penetrate my cranium and permeate my temporal lobes.  "Umm, what the what!? What safari? You went on a safari?"  What else don't I know about this man?  Oh, right, I also didn't know that his trip included a week (or was it two weeks?) in the Seychelles Islands.

Apparently, some time in his thirties, a family friend asked my dad what he wanted for his birthday.  He said he wanted to see the animals of Africa before they were gone.  What he received was a month of vacation that took him to Europe, Africa and Seychelles.  Could this man get more interesting?  He's becoming the Dos Equis man before my eyes.  Hilarious.  He spoke about the people, the incredible animals, sleeping in tents and trees.  As I listened I remember having the conscious thought, "I need to remember this. I don't want to forget this."  But, alas, my personality type does not absorb the details, rather I absorb the vibe, the feeling of the moment.  My husband and I can walk into the same room and leave with two completely different impressions.  He will remember every detail, what was on the table, what color it was, how many there were, etc.  I come out knowing if the room felt inviting, warm, cozy or if it was dark, cold, sterile.

There are only two details I actually took from that moment.  The first is that all of the women of Seychelles walk around topless.  The second is the dik-dik.  I learned that the dik-dik are tiny antelope that only grow about a foot tall and are locally known in Africa for having a hideously shrill whistle which alerts other game when they are about to be pounced on.  Now, I am his dik-dik screaming, "RUN!" at the top of my lungs.  "There's a hunter after you that wants to devour you!  RUN!!!" But the tired, old lion is done with running and just wants to feel the sun on his face.  He is going to do this his way.  Also, I now know the breasts of the topless island women become white noise after a few days.  What a trip.  No pun intended.

The vibe I walked away with is far more valuable than the details I could memorize from his journey.  An experience I could only live vicariously anyway.  God waits for my dad in the wild.  In the animals.  In nature.  Not that God isn't always with my dad.  He is.  He has certainly been with him in Texas, at MD Anderson.  His time with the animals is the closest my dad gets to the garden while here on earth.  It's as close as he can be to actually walking with God, communing with God.  He lights up when he talks about the animals and the beauty of the mountains, trees and fields where he lives.  He even gets quietly excited to watch the large flocks of dove fly by my house every morning and every evening.  It's his already, not yet place.  He is walking with God as much as one possibly can while in the confinement of humanness.  Like Moses, he seeks the face of God, but instead of finding it in a burning bush, it appears to him in the face of the dik-dik and the moose.